


The river that called my name

by GreyWeeknds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:37:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWeeknds/pseuds/GreyWeeknds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/N: I want to dedicate this to Hannah. For those of you who don't know who she is, it's a girl who took her life in the last couple of days ago. It's sad that a young person, just 17 years old, will be taken away from us. May you rest in peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The river that called my name

_'Breathe Harry, breathe’_ he thought to himself,  _‘breathe, and the pain will go away’._ His eyes glistened against the silver surface, there were tears hiding behind his two emerald shadows. He wanted to cry, but it seemed like he had forgotten how too. All the days that passed by just felt grey, and nothing in the world could make him smile again. Every day was the same, waking up in his old apartment, seeing nothing but ripped down wallpapers and feeling the stinging feeling on his forearms. Remembering the reason why he even cut himself and then look at the phone that nobody even cared about to message, just hearing the lonely dial tone.

 _‘You’re beautiful Harry’_  his mum had once said. Perhaps it had been true then, before all the purple and yellow bruises covered half of his skin on his body. Perhaps he had been pretty before he stopped eating, talking or…  _loving._

He had loved once, not only loved his parents but been in love too. But he didn’t wanted to be reminded of it; it only hurt too much to see all those memories of the blonde angel, dreams, playing inside of his mind, making him crazy and then finally break down. That was one of the things that he usually tended to end up in his old bathtub, the only place on earth that nobody judged him. He had grown a lot the last couple of months and his feet didn’t fit any longer in it, so they hang outside of the edge, dangling in the cold air.

Sometimes he wished that he never stopped talking to his mother, never ignored her phone calls all those days as he buried his head into the pillow as he screamed loudly. He wished that she could just embrace him like she had used to do, taking a bit of his pain away. But it was to late now, and she probably wouldn’t recognise him even if he turned up on her threshold back in Holmes Chapel.

The thing was, when he was beat down to the ground, blood floating away from his body and down on the asphalt, it hurt like shit. But when he had to hear everywhere that he went how damn pathetic he was or that he would do everybody a favour if he just killed himself, it felt like someone was standing behind him with a dagger, cutting him from the shoulders right into his heart. And perhaps they were right, perhaps they would feel better if he just perished from the earth’s surface… and maybe he would feel better too.

-

It was awful to see the heart broken brunette sitting naked in the white porcelain, hiccupping while he held back the tears that he thought he wanted to shed. He wanted to touch him, tell him that he wasn’t alone, wasn’t unloved. He wanted to say to him that there were still people who cared about him, a mother that waited every minute of every day by the telephone, longing to hear her son’s voice again. But he couldn’t, and that made him outrageous.

Why wasn’t he allowed to visit him? Why couldn’t he lie to the boy and say that he was a human, just like everybody else? There was nothing different by their appearance from him to the people that lived in that world, so was it really that bad to show himself?

All he could do was to fly with his two white feathers covered wings into Harry’s dreams, appearing just like some character that he had created in his own head. Sure, he had done the forbidden and grown feelings towards the green-eyed, but he was he supposed not to?

His curls were softer than snow, tickling playfully against his skin. His eyes were the most precious things he had ever seen, sparkling callow that could light up a whole room if he just looked up. But the thing that he loved the most about the Cheshire-boy was his slow and deep voice. It made goosebumps all over his arms, flesh, and blood. He could hear him talk about the same subject for an hour, never coming to the point, and that painted a smile on his lips.

-

“Harry, please just don’t let go, everything will be fine in the end.” He said as he pressed his lips to the cold cheek, feeling teardrops that had fallen down from his long, black eyelashes.

“How can you be so sure Niall? I feel this pain that expands near my ribcage all the time, and I want you to explain how you can be so sure. It hurts more and more, and I don’t know how to breathe anymore.”

“Just open you mouth, close your eyes and live.” Niall whispered, his lips tracing small shadows on his skin till he finally touched the corner of his moth.

Two arms found their way around his waist as a head rested in the crook of his neck. He patted the sad bloke encouraging as he whispered how much he loved him in his ear.

“I-I just w-want you to b-be real.” The taller teen sobbed silently.

“I am real.”

-

_"The calm, cool face of the river asked me for a kiss."_

_-Suicide note._

 


End file.
